CalCon is the pen name I use—a mashup of my first and middle names. For the past eight years, writing has been both my obsession and my therapy.

Simply being who I want to be without fear is the most beautiful thing. I’ve learned to express myself for who I am through poems—saying it but not really saying everything. The mystery behind writing poems is like looking at a painting and seeing different meanings every time you look at it.

Joy in a 3 × 4 box

If you could fill joy in a 3 × 4 box, only to move it across the world. What would be in yours?
Mine was the sky and the sound of the ocean and the wind that always had my back, more than any.

Mine was the open road at five forty-five in the morning, the blinding fog, the cold that was not numbing, and the sunrise that had me hugging, but more than that, the sunset that held a special place in my soul. Mine was quiet before anyone woke up.

If you could fill joy in a 3 × 4 box, only to move it across the world. What would be in yours?
Mine were short walks with the baby of the house, her running around like she was chasing all the demons who haunted my soul, in the wee hours of every morning.

Sniffing out the horror in my breathing, my angel in every universe. Can’t wait to hug you and walk the same walks with you.

Flew, walked, and ran

Flew to a different space in a different time zone, just to be held without sacrificing my own breath. Walk to a different lane in a different time zone, just to be crossing at the red light, looking both sides so no one goes over my troubled soul.

Ran to a different runway in a different time zone, just to be running in a high-speed chase to catch up sooner to my own mind.

Troubled, I flew, walked, and ran to a different time zone, just to find a different type of peace and win a different type of wisdom and test different growth and hugs. To see what it means to see the world with the naked eye, one more time.

Life is

Nothing and everything at the same time.
Forever and temporary at the same time.
Immortal and mortal at the same time.
Present and moving forward at the same time.

Chaos inside and calm outside at the same time.
Lost soul and gained the world at the same time.
Imbalance and injustice at the same time.
Running and chasing at the same time.
Complete and remaining at the same time.

Apologies and fighting back at the same time.
Self-care and losing control at the same time.
Melting and boiling at the same pace.
And now changing the tactics at the same time.

Rest followed

I go back to wherever everything hurt and wake up with a smile because I know how much I have walked just to get a smile when I look back.

The past is the past and has no power over our present beauty. Nothing could be healed by time; just learning what matters and what never did made all the difference.

I am not learning to live with anything; I am just living. So, when all is said and done, I am not hurting when the past chapter comes to mind. My eyes are not in tears; no shadow is cast that destroys the rest of the day.

It was just a known matter of fact; decisions were made based on best judgment, and the rest aligned on its own.

Seeing beyond what is polished

The person who can admire design that is not hung in an art gallery has eyes they should be proud of. They see beyond what is polished.

The person who doesn’t go with the judgment of others about others and waits to see with their own eyes the person before them should be proud of their strength. Because nothing compares to the burden of holding a preconception over someone’s head.

The person who admires small things and is satisfied with the smell of flowers and the wind should be great, because greed has not touched their heart. Nothing compares to losing a sense of beauty in small things.

Enjoying a walk at sunset and sitting alone in silence has won, because nothing compares to the discomfort of loneliness.

Hopes and dreams

I wrote in the snow all my dreams and hopes, which melted away at the end of each winter.
I wrote in the sand on the beach all my dreams and hopes, washed away by the rushing waves.

So now, I write all my dreams and hopes in my heart.
With more than ink.

I dropped a coin in the fountain of wishes to meet you at another crossroad. Just when I stopped meeting you in my dreams.
I want it real with you or not want anything at all.
I got realistic when I locked the last door—real or nothing.

You are not the dream but something real, with someone who stays after I say, “You don’t understand.”

I Aspire to be

The way waves flow with no care for the world and the way I aspire to get work done.

Time is endless; how it refuses to look back and look forward. I aspire to live in the present with time.

The strength of the roots of the trees, standing tall with head held high, defies every force of the wind. I aspire to have the strongest roots with the most loving intentions when saying, “No.”

The way everything just falls into place, I aspire to be like that. Fall into place as I grow and understand how to stand on ground that is not mine but on which I have been put and expected only to thrive.

I aspire to be a full human; I know I can be. Move in the direction I see that has the best view at the end of every day, and not just at the end of all those years with a blindfold and a cane.

Worry and the illusion of control

No amount of peace could take away the thoughts we invite, knowing they are painful, even on a sunny day, just to get us feeling down. The worries we so willingly carry, knowing nothing good is going to come of them—we really should just put them down.

The false assumption that we have some control makes us depressed, making us forget we really don’t have control over much. We are on the ground, sifting through what we have control over and what we don't; it is more comical than anything else.

If we lose everything, will we be okay? I see myself with no answer to this, and that worries me. It also makes me laugh, because I am worried over something I can’t control.

Funny but facts

Funny but true—all these puzzle pieces falling in place.
In place of my tears.
Facts but funny—all this time overthinking overnight, only to find things falling in place, in place of my tears.

Some type of abandonment—that left relief where pain or hate should’ve been.

Funny how things meant to break me made me learn—falling in place, in place of my tears.

Facts — how I learned to lift myself off the floor. That was never meant for me, falling in place, in place of my regrets.

Displayed soul

I said what I said. I am halfway to whatever I have never seen, let alone touched.

I felt what I felt, and that’s hard to put together in words.

I was dismantled into pieces smaller than their ego, but I never felt small, never alone, my soul has more strength than their whole body does.

I put the best part of my soul on display, but some don’t even believe a soul exists. I feel sad for the ones who don’t see what I see.

Step away and do not fall apart holding on to a broken record that tried to take a part of my good side.

This selfie has to be taken only by displaying my good side, of this diamond face.

You bet I am not falling apart over your minimalistic mindset and a broken camera.

Faces

There is no way I'll write my life down on sand and watch it fade away as I fade away. There is no way, I’ll lay my life down for what had me wishing, I had frozen time.

Memories were meant to flow and not fade with time. So many were sad, so I hung on to the tiny small once, laughed so hard at a drop of a hat. Now, those were sad times, holding on to water that was meant to flow.

Now, I breathe to breathe, smile to smile, and laugh just the right amount and hope that not holding on will not make me feel regret. When grey and old hit this body.

There is no way I'll capture the faces of strangers and put them in the album of forever. I went in overload once, and that has me discarding even the familiar disloyal and dishonest faces.

Stroke of pencil

Music always has a way to get emotions on an open platter while I am with my eyes closed, knowing full well its presence.

Sit still and let them type on a notepad, not knowing the direction, or the angle, or the dimension it is willing to move in. The absence of knowing the full context as I type on.

The freedom of just letting it take a shape of its own. Music has a way to unlock that closed surface. Each time it’s different; the feeling never produces the same output twice.

And I wonder why each time I re-read. Because no two moments in life are the same. The new year has a fresh smell of roses and opportunities I could have never dreamed of.

Every word is a representation of what I have lived, as well as what I want to live. Manifest and grateful in the same stroke of pencil.

Conclusion

At the end of the day, what matters is that self-expression does not harm others from existing in this world. Writing my truth has been the focus of all the poems I have ever written.

These poems explore the simple truths of life, expressed in a playful and poetic manner, which has evolved into something beautiful. They live in reflection—rooted in growth, presence, and becoming. They move like waves, steady and unforced, and stand like roots, grounded and resilient, holding space for honesty, intention, and the quiet understanding of what it means to simply be.